


turning up the heat.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Scott McCall, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheets under Scott are wet, and his thighs slide against each other when he moves, sloppy with slick.  His hair is plastered to his head, his whole body covered in sweat, and he can feel himself shaking.  The more awake he is, the more aware he is of the way his body’s clenching around something that isn’t there, his hole not even stretched wide enough for anything to fit.  He needs it, though, feels dizzier with need the closer he turns towards the heady, spicy scent of Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turning up the heat.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bladeofsolsthiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeofsolsthiem/gifts).



Scott remembers the first time he met Stiles.  It was the first day of kindergarten, and his mother held his hand as they got out of the car and walked to the door.  She smelled of sadness and pride, and Scott didn’t want to leave her.  He was nervous about school; Cora from down the street’s uncle told her that kindergarten was the worst, that the teachers never helped them tie their shoelaces and that they made them stay inside all day long.  Scott liked playing, but staying inside didn’t sound  _that_  bad to him, since he sometimes didn’t breathe very well outside.  

He doesn’t tell Cora that, though.  Cora is the fastest kid in the neighborhood.  She never gets sick, and she still doesn’t understand why Scott has to stop and take breaks so much when they play tag or soccer, or why Scott can’t chase after Roxy when it gets cold out.  

Cora isn’t in his class, though, and neither are any of the other neighborhood kids.  None of them seem as nervous as Scott except Boyd, who tells Scott in a quiet voice that he isn’t sure he’s going to get along with the other kids very well.  Scott reassures him he will, an earnest smile on his face, because Boyd is great.  Boyd is funny and smart and quiet, and even Cora listens to him, sometimes.  Scott knows Boyd will be great at making friends.  

Scott is scared about the same thing, though.  He’s terrified, standing in front of the school, and he clings to his mom, squeezing her hand tight.

“Are you sure I can’t go home?” he asks nervously. His mom only smiles at him.

“‘Fraid not, kiddo,” she says.  “Go ahead in.”

Scott tentatively untangles his hand, walking with his neck craned back so he can watch his mom and wave as he walks towards the school.  He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s walking until he feels his shoulder connect with something solid.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” a voice says indignantly, and Scott turns to see a small, thin boy with short brown hair and huge brown eyes.  He doesn’t look older than Scott, though he is slightly taller, his long limbs covered in freckles and moles.  “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?  You gotta watch where you’re going, there are bullies!”

“Sorry,” Scott says.  He can’t really focus on what the boy’s saying, partly because the boy’s face is making the silliest expressions Scott’s ever seen and he’s trying hard not to laugh, and partly because the boy smells oddly familiar.  Scott isn’t very good at picking out scents all the time - his mom says that’s something he’ll get better at with age, and that when he’s this little and hasn’t presented yet, he’ll only smell the important ones.  He can smell Stiles, though, nerves and excitement burying the smell of spices, like the smell of his house when his mom cooks his abuela’s recipes.  Scott’s confused and excited by the smell, and he wants to ask Stiles if he has an abuela, too, but he can’t squeeze a word in edgewise.

“Stick with me,” Stiles says, Scott’s transgression seemingly forgotten.  “I’m Stiles, and we can be best friends and fight the bullies together.”

He grabs Scott’s hand and leads him along, and Scott smiles.  He doesn’t know what just happened, but it seems like he’s made a friend already.  He thinks that’s exciting enough that he doesn’t question it, following Stiles to line up in the area marked with a giant K.

* * *

 

Scott gets older, and he learns a lot.  He heard his mom and dad talk about omegas and betas and alphas, sometimes, but he didn’t know that any kid could an omega, regardless of their parents’ status, or that omegas and alphas were supposed to be together.  His mom is a beta and his dad is an alpha, which Scott learns is something he should be embarrassed about.  He announces it proudly one day in class, and the kids in his class give him funny looks.  Not Stiles, though.  Stiles looks at him like that’s the coolest thing he ever heard, has a laundry list of questions to ask Scott about his parents.

When his dad leaves, there are whispers about why.  Stiles tries to beat up Jackson up when he says what everyone else is thinking, and Scott has to pull him off, because Stiles is still thin as a rail, and Jackson’s already starting to get muscles (which he claims means he’s gonna be an alpha).  It lands the three of them in the principal’s office, though Jackson doesn’t get in trouble with Principal Argent like Stiles and Scott do.  Stiles fumes about it the entire way home, says it’s because Principal Argent is an asshole, which gets him chastised gently by Scott’s mom.  Scott can smell that she’s amused, though, and he feels a lot less guilty.

Stiles smells of mischief for days after, until Jackson’s clothes go mysteriously missing after gym class.  It’s a smell Scott only recognizes because Stiles smells of it so frequently.  

He can still smell Stiles’ emotions as clearly as they’re written on Stiles’ face, and he’s hoping with everything in his heart that that means he and Stiles are going to be mates when they present.  Everyone says Stiles is an omega, for sure, but no one knows what to make of Scott - lots of people say he’ll be a beta like his mother, and some say a weak alpha.

Scott doesn’t know what he wants to be, or even if he really cares.  All he knows is that Stiles smells like home, and that Cora wrinkles her nose and says he smells mushy when he gets talking about his best friend.  He never brings it up to Stiles, because Stiles has hearts in his eyes for a redhead (’ _her hair is strawberry blonde, Scott!_ ’) in their class.

He thinks about it a lot, though, and he knows.  No matter how he presents, his future is with Stiles.  He can feel it in his bones.

* * *

 

Jackson is one of the earliest in their class to present, his heat dragging him out of school for a week their freshman year of high school.  Lydia presents within days of his return.  She’s an alpha, to no one’s surprise, but their signing the mating papers so quickly after is a bit of a shock.  It leaves Stiles desolate, distracting himself by gorging on snack foods and playing video games at Scott’s.  Scott is very good at comforting Stiles, though the smell of their scents mingled together in the sheets of Scott’s bed when they snuggle under the covers leaves Scott aching for days.  

It becomes a habit, even when Stiles finally starts to let his Thing for Lydia slowly fade; Scott and Stiles were always clingy and were always spending time together, but Scott doesn’t think that they’ve ever been quite this physically affectionate, spending practically all their time cuddled up.  It makes Scott feel warm and pleased and confused, because everything in him tells him that this is  _it_ , and Stiles is going on like everything is totally normal.

One weekend, Stiles comes to stay, his bag packed full of clothes and video games and a few textbooks that Scott knows he won’t use until Sunday night, when he’s already back at home.  Stiles is bubbling with excitement, rambling about things he wants to look up and this one game he found online that he thinks Scott is gonna  _love_.  Scott spends all of Saturday feeling off, though, restless and hot and sweaty and itchy.  Stiles puts his hand on Scott’s forehead to see if he’s hot, but it only makes it worse.  Stiles keeps touching Scott, and Scott can smell Stiles’ scent on his skin, rich and sweet and somehow  _more_  than usual, covering everything in his room and leaving Scott overwhelmed.  

He nearly has to duck out and sleep on the couch that night, because Stiles is sleeping with his arm sprawled loosely over Scott, and it’s too much.  Scott feels like he’s melting, like the covers he’s trapped under, that Stiles is determinedly sleeping on top of, are separating him from what he needs.  He wants to press himself against Stiles, wants to touch him at every point he can, wants to rut against Stiles until he comes all over the sheets.  He wants to press his mouth to Stiles’ to brush his lips against Stiles’ puffy pink lips.  He wants Stiles inside him, more than anything.  It’s something he’s thought about before, but he’s never felt it quite like this, the need tugging at his gut, thrumming under his skin.

His sleep is restless and broken that night, and he wakes up in the morning feeling like all the water has been drained for his body, his throat dry and his lips cracked.  He rolls over to try for more sleep, his head buzzing unpleasantly, when he feels it.

The sheets under him are wet, and his thighs slide against each other when he moves, sloppy with slick.  His hair is plastered to his head, his whole body covered in sweat, and he can feel himself shaking.  The more awake he is, the more aware he is of the way his body’s clenching around something that isn’t there, his hole not even stretched wide enough for anything to fit.  He needs it, though, feels dizzier with need the closer he turns towards the heady, spicy scent of Stiles.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, hair mussed and eyes wide.   _Yes_ , Scott wants to say, his face slack, his body tingling with the promise of it.   _Fuck_.  Stiles reaches out to touch Scott, to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and Scott practically moans.

“I’m getting your mom,” Stiles says, eyes darting frantically for his phone as he jumps out of bed.  The loss is palpable, Scott shivering at the cool air that swirls under the covers as Stiles lifts them up.  “Fuck, just.  Stay here.  Promise, Scott?”

“Yeah,” Scott croaks, his voice raw.  He needs water.  Or a knot, fucking him open and coating his insides with come, filling him up and calming him.  Stiles’ knot, maybe, Stiles heavy on top of him and-

Stiles leaves, and Scott calls after him, his voice broken and hoarse.  

By the time Stiles comes back with Melissa, Scott is lost in his heat, four fingers stuffed inside himself and two loads of come coating his sheets.

* * *

 

Everyone looks at Scott differently when he gets to finally go back to school a week later.  Lydia eyes him with something akin to interest, and she’s not the only one.  The few alphas that have already presented in their class go out of the way to interact with Scott, picking up things he’s dropped and smearing them with their scents and holding doors open for Scott, getting a whiff of him as he walks by.  It’s unnerving and a little demeaning, though the part that Scott notices most is how Stiles responds to the whole thing.  

Some awkwardness Scott expects.  Stiles witnessed Scott going into heat for the first time, which was something literally none of them expected.  Scott expects it to make Stiles want to put some distance between him and Scott, but it has the opposite effect.  Stiles is always there, interrupting alphas, draping an arm around Scott and preventing them from hovering.  He doesn’t stop coming over, and he doesn’t talk about Scott differently or behave any more unusually than Scott’s used to.  But he watches Scott now; Scott can feel his gaze on the back of his neck when Stiles thinks he isn’t looking.

Stiles still hasn’t presented, so no one’s thought to separate the two of them.  Scott’s glad.  Now that he’s presented, physical contact with Stiles is even more settling than it used to be, and he doesn’t think he can quit.

(One day they’re doing homework in Scott’s room when Stiles speaks up.

“Of the two of us, everyone thought you’d be the alpha,” Stiles says.

“Why does either of us have to be one?” Scott asks.

“I thought…” Stiles starts, but he cuts off abruptly, shaking his head.  “Never mind.  You’re right.”

Scott spends the rest of the day wondering how that sentence was supposed to end.)

* * *

 

It’s senior year Stiles still hasn’t presented.  Scott misses school every three months for heat, spending the week at home with the knotted toy Stiles got him for his birthday.  He has toys from his mom, too; as a nurse, she couldn’t in good conscience leave her son with nothing during his heats.  She took a very clinical approach to it, which was both embarrassing and reassuring.  Scott’s still more likely to use Stiles’ toy, though; he cleans it thoroughly after he uses it, so there are no traces of Stiles’s smell left on it anymore, but the thought is still there.  The boy his body considers his mate gave him the toy to satisfy him, and it only feels right to use it, to take care of himself the same way Stiles would if he were there.

Scott’s 18th birthday comes and goes, and he foregoes registering for the mating pool.  It’s been years, but he’s still got a vestige of hope.  He can register at 21, if he has to, but he’s hoping it doesn’t come down to it.  

Stiles presenting ends up being anticlimactic at best, considering how nervous he is about it, and how much he lets Jackson’s jabs about being late get to him.  Two weeks after Stiles turns 18, Scott gets a text in the morning, “you need a ride for the next week,” and that’s that.

They’re both omegas, and Scott’s feelings haven’t changed a bit.  He’s a little bit disappointed, because it’s been fun thinking of Stiles secretly being an alpha.  He’s survived heat by imagining Stiles knotting him, imagining the toy was Stiles’ dick and not just a dildo.

He’ll have to rework his wank bank, a little bit, but it’s not the end of the world.

* * *

 

Stiles comes back to school looking worn down and fucked out.  All day he keeps looking at Scott, biting his lip like he has something to say.  Scott even asks him what it is, if there’s something he wants to tell him, but Stiles blows him off, reeking of shame.  It’s frustrating for Scott, but he doesn’t push.  It isn’t fair to Stiles, especially when he’s still so tired from heat that he dozes off in Harris’ class.  It earns him a week of detention, which means Scott’s on his own for lunches, because his mom just talked to him about how his school record can’t afford any more detentions, even if it’s keep Stiles company.

Stiles is weird when Scott does see him.  He’s nervous and jittery and he constantly smells like slick, and it sends Scott’s body into overdrive.  The car rides home, even, are weird, and then Stiles keeps blowing Scott off when he invites him over.  Scott reassures himself that Stiles is probably just tired and needs the time to himself to recover.  Scott knows he was exhausted and overwhelmed after his first heat, and he’s sure Stiles is probably not much different.

Another week goes by, though, and Stiles is no less dodgy and evasive.  He even  _smells_  different, defensive and scared in a way he’s never been around Scott, and Scott is hurt.  He wonders if he did something wrong that could make Stiles be acting differently.

Scott finally decides to bite the bullet and investigate.  He jumps on his bike and rides over to Stiles’, letting himself in the front door with the emergency key.  Scott is so pumped up on adrenaline and emotions that he doesn’t think through the potential consequences of bursting into Stiles’ house unannounced until he’s frozen in the open doorway of Stiles’ bedroom.

He’s hit all at once with the sight of Stiles sprawled out on top of his covers wearing only a t-shirt that Scott knows he lent Stiles, the soft blue fabric rucked up to show the soft dots of moles on Stiles’ pale skin.  Stiles’ fingers are wrapped around a long, thin vibrator that’s pressed inside his hole, and as soon as it sinks in, the smell hits Scott, the overwhelming sweetness of Stiles’ slick and the saltier scent from the come that’s already covering the shirt Stiles borrowed.  Scott’s thoughts feel slow, and he almost says something, cracks a terrible joke about Stiles smelling like the optimal snack combination, sweet and salty.  The words stick in his throat when Stiles moans, though, because it’s a word he recognizes.

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles says, and Scott’s tongue goes heavy in his mouth.  He’s pretty sure all of the words have disappeared from his head, leaving him with underwear that is already starting to go damp.  The sound of the vibrator buzzing, the way Scott can see the slick on it when Stiles pulls it out… Scott wants to get his mouth there, to lick up Stiles’ slick from the source.  He wants to get his teeth on Stiles’ neck, which is stretched back and pulled taut to show off the perfect skin where Scott knows Stiles’ scent would be thick, where Scott could bite, leave his mark for everyone to see.  Scott can feel his mouth watering just thinking about it.

“ _Please_ ,” Stiles says, and Scott is jolted back down to earth, remembers that Stiles doesn’t know he’s there and that he should do something before it gets too out of hand.

Scott knocks clumsily on the doorframe, and Stiles stills.  He stares at Scott with wide eyes, like deer in headlights, and after a few moments, he shuts off the vibe, setting it down on the bed next to him.

No one says a word for a full minute, and Stiles doesn’t go soft, staring at Scott in horror with his cock hard and his face flushed red and blotchy.

“I’m sorry,” Scott finally blurts.  “You were being weird and I wanted to make sure you’re okay, and I should’ve called ahead and-”

“How much did you hear?” Stiles asks.

“Not much,” Scott admits.  “Though I… the fact that you’re wearing my shirt would’ve tipped me off that something was going on even if you weren’t getting off saying my name.”

Stiles covers his face with his hands, smearing slick across his cheekbones and forehead.  “Oh my  _god_ ,” he says, the words muffled, “you’re the actual worst.  Holy shit.”

“You got off saying my name,” Scott repeats, the sound of it distant even to his ears.  “Was… last week…”

Stiles sinks into the bed.  “ _Worst_ ,” he reaffirms, which isn’t an answer.  Scott didn’t really ask a question, though he has many that come to mind.

“It isn’t just me, then?” Scott asks.  “I feel like your mate to you, too?”

Stiles manages to come across as petulant, even with his face covered, and Scott thinks he might not get an answer out of him, after all.  He might just have to sweep this under the rug and not talk about it again, another one of their stories of mutual humiliation.

Stiles moves his hands, eventually, looking Scott straight in the eyes.  “Yeah,” he finally says.  “You’re my mate.”

* * *

 

Scott tells his mom he’s ready to sign his mating papers, and she tears up.  He tells her he doesn’t care that Stiles is an omega, that that was never the most important thing to him.  He tells her that it’s just another thing he learned from her, how to be brave when it comes to the people he loves.  She hugs him tight and says she’s proud of him, and it’s everything Scott needed to hear.

They turn in their paperwork and slide into things easily.  Sex with Stiles is dizzying in a way Scott never expected, rutting against each other until they’re both panting and messy, Stiles fucking Scott open on his fingers, waiting until Scott’s so wet he’s dripping onto the bed before he finally slides his cock inside.

They catch flack from people at school, especially Jackson, but Scott doesn’t care.  He’s proud to hold his mate’s hand in the hallway and to give him small, shy kisses that Stiles turns into something more, egging Scott on until they’re making out pressed against the lockers.

“They’re just jealous,” Stiles tells Scott one day.  “We get two heat weeks off, and they only get one.”

Scott always laughs and tells Stiles he’s right, because it makes Stiles smile.  Scott doesn’t need the reassurance, though.  Neither of them have knots, and they’re far from conventional, but Scott has never been more satisfied in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at sleepy-skittles!


End file.
